


The Matrimonial Troubles of Suzannah Combeferre

by BadassIndustries



Series: Dancing Through Life [9]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Everyone is a little in love with Feuilly, F/F, Fluff, Further Pairings will be added as they appear, M/M, Regency Romance, So this turned into musings about complex feelings towards romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-09-07 19:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassIndustries/pseuds/BadassIndustries
Summary: Great-aunt Matilda had believed fiercely in the institution of marriage and also in forcing young people to take up employment. Therefore she had left a large fortune to the first Combeferre child to marry, but with the strict condition that the money would only be released to set up a school, institution or otherwise ‘start the young people on a life of gainful employment, industry and wedded bliss.’ The exact phrasing of the bequest had been dissected many times; the money could only go to a business and not a charitable society.As it was Combeferre and Courfeyrac were fortunate enough to be able to marry without that money, but Combeferre’s sister Suzannah had long dreamed of starting a school. Her aunt’s gift would allow her to not only open her school, but also receive students with fewer means. A school of the arts and sciences, open to all regardless of background was a worthy enough cause to put off their engagement until Suzannah had found a partner. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had to keep the secret for the entire season at least.This is the story of how Suzannah Combeferre deals with finding a spouse, a quest for romance she isn't sure she actually wants and a pining brother-in-law-to-be.





	1. Advertisements would be easier

**Author's Note:**

> Written for those lovely readers who expressed an interest in Suzannah's story. This is for you, thank you for caring for my characters enough to read their stories.

Suzannah Combeferre was a woman on a mission. Her mission, like many other young gentles, was to be married. Unlike many other young gentles, the matrimony itself was not her goal. It was merely a means to what she wanted more than anything in her life. More than she wanted to wear ribbons in her hair when she was five, more than she wanted to get Camilla the lapdog when she turned ten, more even than she wanted her brother to stop talking about dissecting organs, she wanted to open a school. A school that was better than the one she was forced to go to. One that taught the sciences and arts, which opened its doors to anyone, not just gentles. A sanctuary where family and connections won’t matter, where those who own carriages can learn alongside those who build them. She was not alone in this wish, Suzannah’s family has supported her dreams from the moment she was able to properly articulate them. Her brother had started a society that sought to bring about equality, a society that had pledged their support the moment Suzannah introduced her plans to them. Not everyone around her was so supportive however. Some of their neighbours believed the separation of the lower classes was the thread that binds society together. Convincing those people they were wrong was Suzannah’s life’s work. Her greatest supporter in attaining that goal was her favourite schoolfellow, a girl who had suffered through the same education and whose presence made every boring lesson many times brighter. For every stern teacher making them write lines or make useless buttonholes, they spent hours talking of the school they would open once they were free to do so. Nora was Suzannah’s best friend, her accomplice in childish mischief and grownup plans, but currently also Suzannah’s greatest disappointment. Instead of leaving school together, victorious and full of plans, Nora had left school early, swept away into a marriage with a handsome man whose heart was burning for her. And now Suzannah was deprived of the company of her friend, her business partner and the one person she would prefer to solve her current dilemma.

The dilemma was, for all accounts, a pleasant one to be in. Being left money by an aged relative was the stuff of stories, not something anyone would complain of, no matter how loved the relative. Great-aunt Matilda had been what society pleasantly called ‘a character’, an opiniated old lady who kept tight control on everyone in her sight and thankfully lived quite far away. She had believed fiercely in the institution of marriage and also in forcing young people to take up employment. The few times Matilda had visited, she had expounded vigorously on the subject and cruelly withheld her gifts until both Suzannah and her brother had shown her proof of their lessons and the industrious way they employed their time. Even after she departed to bully the angels into polishing their halos with more vigour, she had ensured that her control and her opinions would be felt. In a stroke of the kind of evil genius she generally displayed in flower committees and hospital boards, she had left a sizable fortune to the first Combeferre child to marry, but with the strict condition that the money would only be released to set up a business, school, institution or otherwise ‘start the young people up on a life of gainful employment, industry and wedded bliss.’ To any other young gentle used to a life of leisure as both Combeferre children were, this stipulation would have been a terrible burden. To Suzannah and her brother, it was a wish come true. Both siblings intended for their fortune to benefit as many people as possible and a future of employment was no chore to either of them. The issue was that this money would only be released to the first child to marry, the second would receive nothing. Luckily, this fortune hanging over only one of their heads did not cause strife between the siblings, but it did cause a problem. Suzannah was not very much drawn to the institution of marriage. Combeferre however, had been in love with his friend Courfeyrac for as long as Suzannah could remember. And Courfeyrac, flirt as he was, was just as determined to love Combeferre for the rest of his life. And there was the problem. The fortune would be released to the child with a spouse and a business. Combeferre would have the former, but Suzannah longed for the latter. After much discussion and legal advice, it was determined that the money could not go to the charitable society Combeferre had started with his best friends, so the only option was for Suzannah to get married. It was not a prospect Suzannah relished. Growing up in close proximity with Courfeyrac had shown her a wide variety of flirtations and courtships and none of them at all appealed to her. She preferred her company without coy glances and coquettish whispers. In fact, the only person she could see herself share her life with in such a way as her mothers did was Nora, but Mrs Nora Travers could not share her life, for obvious reasons. Nora was lovely, she could always make Suzannah laugh, she had a mind for mathematics like no other Suzannah had seen and the patience to impart it to others. Some of the happiest hours while at school were spent with Suzannah brushing and braiding Nora’s gloriously long hair while Nora explained the beauty behind algebraic formulas and complex numbers. But the days of staying awake, talking through the night about their shared future were over. No more lying around in their shifts making lesson plans and giggling about which schoolmasters they would never hire.

Now Suzannah was free of school, plans for her own improved school ready and a fortune to pay for it within her reach. If only she could find herself a wife. Or a husband, that would do just as well. Suzannah found in herself only a slight preference for anyone with fine features and a graceful step. This would be a marriage of convenience, so a willingness to be a companion in Suzannah’s life and her business would be the only real condition. In the beginning, Suzannah had decided to not ask for anything more. The start of her season quickly taught her to add several stipulations.

Anyone who did not share her convictions of equality and solidarity would no longer be under consideration. Neither would anyone already in love with Courfeyrac. In theory, anyone already in love with someone else would be eliminated from her pool of choices, but practically, being in love with Courfeyrac was so fashionable that he caused the majority of her problems. She did not blame him however, since he was always perfectly clear to these foolish gentles that his heart could not be tamed. His heart, wild and loving, already belonged to Suzannah’s brother, which was the other reason Suzannah could not be angry with him. She loved Courfeyrac like a second brother and he was giving up a considerable amount for her to achieve her dreams. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were engaged, wild to get married, but they agreed to keep their engagement secret for Suzannah’s sake. They would not marry, would not breathe a word of their engagement until Suzannah could find a spouse and fulfil the conditions of the will. Suzannah was deeply conscious of the sacrifice this was to them. To show her gratitude, Suzannah finished the embroideries Courfeyrac started but had not the patience to finish, and redirected gardeners to other parts of the garden whenever she knew her brother had gone out walking with his betrothed. In her earnest wish not to prolong their suffering, Suzannah had decided she would marry before the season was out. She did not think the footmen could pretend their ignorance for much longer, or that Enjolras, best friend to both Courfeyrac and Combeferre could stand to have their meetings be the theatre for their illicit romance for many more months. Enjolras was not very susceptible to romance and he must be getting tired of being in between their only adequately concealed longing glances. It would be better for everyone if Suzannah could be married as soon as possible. Her mothers were in agreement, even though they tried to council her against marrying where she did not love. Having never been in love, Suzannah thought this advice very impractical. Instead she followed Courfeyrac’s advice, which was to join him on as many outings and parties as possible and meet as many people to broaden her prospects. So far, Suzannah had made many friends, but no one she liked enough to marry. After every party, Courfeyrac told her which ladies and gentlemen he suspected of carrying torches for her, but he liked to imagine flirtations where Suzannah could discern none and so the search continued. Putting ribbons in her hair for yet another party, Suzannah sighed and contemplated putting and advertisement in the paper. One more week and she would seriously consider it.


	2. Matchmaking Brother-Elects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac and Suzannah have a cosy afternoon musing about matches, matrimony and romance

Suzannah and Courfeyrac were sitting in the parlour, cosily debating the merits of some fashion plates. The weather might be dreary, but the fashion from Paris included enough ribbons and laces to make up for it. After each gown’s merits had been thoroughly debated and each suit’s splendour had been critiqued, Courfeyrac but the papers aside and looked at Suzannah with a discerning eye. Then he sighed.

“My dear Suzannah, my most beloved sister, you disappoint me greatly. Last week I gave the most splendid ball and yet I do not spy a single mark of love in you. Can it really be true? I have introduced you to every gentle I know and not a single one has caught your fancy?”

Though his words were playful, his tone was serious. He did not even pout, so well did he know what pain this whole business had given Suzannah. Suzannah cast him a dark look anyway.

“You know full well they have not. Your friends are all very handsome and charming, but not a single one could be my life’s companion.” They sighed in unison.

“Sometimes I think all the romance was drained out of me when I was bled after I got that fever when I was a child,” lamented Suzannah.

Courfeyrac sniffed delicately. “You sound like your brother.”

“You love my brother,” replied Suzannah, which silenced Courfeyrac beautifully. She could only use this trump card in private, but she wielded it as often and as sharply as she could. If Courfeyrac was foolish enough to sigh after her brother, he would just have to pay the price in frequent teasing from the only person who was allowed to know. Since Courfeyrac’s own siblings could not do it, Suzannah took on this burden for them. She was sure they would be grateful to her for the service once the engagement was made public.

“But I was serious,” continued Suzannah with a sideways glance at Courfeyrac’s face, “I sometimes feel all other gentles see things I cannot see. Or rather, they read meaning in situations I cannot discern. I can see people are beautiful, I just cannot fathom that that should be enough to marry someone.”

Courfeyrac patted her hand in the exact same way Combeferre used to do when she was upset over a muddied dress or a dropped toy.

“Romance –or rather, love— touches us all in different ways. I could not marry without love, no matter how beautiful the person. If Combeferre did not suit my soul as he does I would not marry him, even though he is the most beautiful man alive. Well— Excepting Enjolras. And one should always except Enjolras when talking of romance and matrimony.” Courfeyrac frowned, having lost the thread of his conversation.

“Romance,” prompted Suzannah, even though it might mean hearing again how her brother was the most beautiful being alive. In her many years of friendship with Courfeyrac she had grown accustomed to such speeches and could bear them with tolerable composure.

“Oh yes!” said Courfeyrac, bouncing up again. “Romance. Some just don’t care for it at all. Enjolras doesn’t, but you couldn’t call him anything but loving, could you. Perhaps you just have to find the particular way you could love a partner. Are you really sure no one you met could be that companion, when you think of a cozy life together, instead of a passionate romance?”

Suzannah silenced the immediate denial she felt bubbling up at the mention of her name in connection with passionate anything. She thought deeply, considered who of her new friends could be her companion in that light. Silently she shook her head.

“No one? No one at all?” asked Courfeyrac, spirits drooping. He could show his disappointment so touchingly Suzannah felt the urge to make up a lover just to make him smile again. Suzannah mentally reviewed everyone she knew.

“Oh!” she said and sat up quickly. “There is one person I could see myself share a business and a life with!” But then reality flooded in again and she deflated. “But marriage would not be an option, so it is of no use at all.”

“Who?” asked Courfeyrac urgently, grasping her hands in excitement, “I’m sure we could make it happen, if it could make you happy!”

Suzannah really wished she had not spoken so thoughtlessly. “I’m afraid not. You were just speaking of a companion, someone I could like enough to see everyday and I realised that… Well, I realised that were I allowed to, I could marry Feuilly.” She fought to keep the blush from her face.

Courfeyrac turned to catch her eye, nodded understandingly.

“He would make a wonderful husband, wouldn’t he,” he said with a wistful smile. “Do not worry, it is a passing fancy that has struck us all at one time or another. I am sure even Enjolras has contemplated marrying Feuilly, if only to make sure he has access to all the books he could ever want and can be made to work just a little less hard.” Courfeyrac looked at Suzannah delicately from behind his curls. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I remember when we first met Feuilly and we none of us could talk about anyone else for a week. But you are right. I am fairly certain the executor to dear old Mathilde’s will would argue that only a marriage to an appropriate party would be enough to fulfil its conditions. Marriage to an orphan artisan would not do.”

Courfeyrac looked at her searchingly. “Unless,” he said carefully, ”you love him. If you do and he cares for you the same way, we will do everything in our power to make the match happen. We will make society accept it, I promise you that.” His voice rang with conviction.

“No,” said Suzannah unhappily. “No, I do not love him in the way people tell stories about. I just thought— Feuilly is wonderful, I esteem him greatly. But although working with him would be a delight, I do not love him. And I am persuaded he cares no more for me that he cares for you, or my brother or any other of our friends.”

Courfeyrac nodded his understanding and tactfully started a story about his latest suitors’ outrageous demands on his time and attention. Outside, it began to rain, but in the parlour all was as sunny as Courfeyrac’s disposition and as joyful as his stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is once more longer than I anticipated, but don't fear, the next part is already half written.  
Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear what you think of Suzannah's sad predicament. (and how dreamy Feuilly is, I believe that is a truth universally known)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Solutions are found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of Suzannah's matrimonial troubles

Suzannah’s valet was arranging her dark curls for a pleasant family dinner at the de Courfeyracs. Just a small party of close friends, the kind that Suzannah delighted in. Ordinarily she loved large parties very much too, but the burden of finding a permanent companion was wearing on her. Tonight, at least, there would only be friends, the kind whose society she would already be sharing in the years to come, no binding band of matrimony required. Not that such an alliance had not been thought of before. All attending friends with free hearts had in fact been briefly considered by Courfeyrac in his guise as expert matchmaker, but all quickly discarded. He had excitedly asked, when the subject first came up a few months ago, whether she would not do him the service of making Enjolras his brother by a double marriage.

“It is perfect,” he had said with a cheeky grin, “he cares as little for romance as you, and your union would unite friends and fortune alike.”

Suzannah knew that most of her friends had dreamt of Enjolras and his unparalleled beauty at one time or another, but she could not say the same. Like Courfeyrac, she thought of him like a brother. The same thought must have occurred to Enjolras, who sometime after that solemnly told her that he would of course offer his aid to her noble cause, but that matrimony was so distasteful to him he begged her to think of him only as a last resort. Suzannah, privately triumphing over those busybodies who saw matches merely because people grew up together, assured him with a smile that she would not dare constrain him to a single school when he had a whole nation to re-invent. The conversation then turned to some recent legislation and they spent a pleasant afternoon debating bills and articles, the original subject forgotten.

All Courfeyrac or Combeferre’s other particular friends were not entirely unattached, wholly unsuitable in the eyes of society or passionately in love with highwaymen, apparently. The season had been very exciting for everyone and it seemed everybody left and right was losing their heart to someone or other. Why, at the ball Suzannah had even seen _Enjolras_ dance with a young man who made him blush and smile. And yet while Suzannah had enjoyed the evening greatly, she could no more say she flirted than she could say she flew. And it wasn’t like Suzannah was ignorant of flirtation or coquetry. Cosette Fauchelevent spent the entire night flirting with Miss Jondrette, Suzannah had no trouble at all to see that. Florian Lucas had smiled at her unprompted for the first time in ages, but that was not so much to do with Suzannah’s charms as with Courfeyrac’s machinations. Florian was nice, but a little too susceptible to Courfeyrac’s charms for Suzannah to consider him seriously. As were most of the young gentles attending, sadly. Suzannah sometimes wondered whether she should set out on a journey. An unwise one, taking only an elderly attendant, where her carriage would be overset and the strong handsome gentle owner of the nearest estate would of course be summoned to carry her out of the storm that would no doubt be raging. Perhaps Suzannah had been reading a little too much the past few days, but she had danced nearly the entire ball and she felt the serious need to rest her feet after so many hours on the dancefloor. Novels had been her constant companions while everyone recovered from the strain of keeping up with Courfeyrac on the dancefloor. Novels and, of course, Courfeyrac’s excited gossip. But aside from his matchmaking machinations – now thankfully turned towards his beaux and belles and not Suzannah herself— not very many interesting things had happened, so Suzannah was looking forward to tonight’s dinner.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” called Suzannah, turning away from her looking glass. Eve, one of the upstairs maids stepped into Suzannah’s dressing room.

“There’s a Miss Walker, here to see you Miss. I informed her you were on the way out, but she was quite adamant she needed to see you.”

“No, I don’t think so. Do you mean Mrs Nora Travers? I do not know any other Miss Walker.”

“No Miss,” replied Eve, “she said Miss Walker, said you knew her.”

“Please send her up please, Eve, if it really is Nora I can only imagine something went wrong.”

“Oh no Miss!” said Eve wide-eyed with alarm, “your mothers would have my head if I showed an unknown Miss in your dressingroom. And at this hour too! No, I will show her to the parlour and since your mothers are still dressing, either David or I will sit with you so everything is nice and proper. No midnight assignations for you, Miss.”

Despite being only a few years older than Suzannah, Eve and her compatriots below stairs saw themselves as the last defence against any attack on the collective Combeferre Virtue. This would have been more effective had they not unanimously agreed that “that sweet Courfeyrac boy” would never constitute a danger for the elder Combeferre’s virtue. So they jealously defended Suzannah and Combeferre against such rakes as Captain Crawford and Florian Lucas while not thinking a thing of letting Courfeyrac run through the house as free as a bird. Suzannah seriously suspected Courfeyrac of bribing half the household on a regular basis. Of course, Courfeyrac could never be a danger to Combeferre, that was obvious to anyone who saw them speak in silent looks and smiles. But Suzannah was nonetheless annoyed that her brother got all the secret assignations he wished for, while she herself got accused of them groundlessly. For Suzannah, whose impropriety mainly showed itself in outspoken opinions and nothing at all likely to compromise her, these arbitrary rules about which rooms she could meet her friends in were sometimes grating, even if she could understand them.

With bad grace, Suzannah took herself down to the parlour. David followed her, put a wrap around her shoulders and took up his station by the door. At least it was he who played the chaperon and not Eve. David would at least be unobtrusive.

“Miss Walker, Ma’am,” announced Eve with a curtsy and a warning look. Behind her emerged a young lady in dark travel clothing. All thoughts of interfering maids left Suzannah’s mind. It was Nora, just as she had seen her last, except she looked wretched. Her clothes were dusty with travel, her hem stained with mud and her eyes… Suzannah rushed to embrace her. Her eyes looked freshly washed in tears. Nora clung to her for a moment, but far too soon she stepped away. Suzannah, who felt the appropriate response to after such a long absence was fond embraces and whispered reassurances, felt confused by this distance.

“My dear Mrs Travers” she said, “whatever brings you here? You are meant to be touring the North. Whatever has befallen you?”

Nora bit her lip and looked down, a habit Suzannah was relieved to recognise in her friend. Nora looked so altered, but if she still bit her lip when trying to avoid telling the truth she could not be too different.

“May I sit down?” asked Nora, recalling Suzannah to everyday things like propriety and politeness, even though Nora was supposed to fling herself onto whatever seat was closest to Suzannah so they could better whisper to each other. Another way how marriage had changed her.

“Please,” said Suzannah, gesturing to the chairs as she sank down on the sofa across from them.

“Will you tell me what is wrong, Nora?” said Suzannah softly. She wanted to help her friend so badly. At the mention of her first name, Nora looked up

“I was afraid I might have lost your friendship, leaving as I did.”

“Never,” interjected Suzannah.

“But you called me by the wrong name and I know you would not forget me so readily. But still I feared…” she trailed off. Nora stared out of the window, into the darkness. By day she would have had a charming view of the avenue. Now all was obscured by darkness. It felt very cruel to Suzannah that the first time Nora was in her home it was dark and Nora looked at her gloves more than at her friend. She wanted to show Nora her beloved home so badly. Her mothers had already met Nora, having invited both girls to leave school for a treat in the city on several occasions. After school was done, Nora was supposed to stay with the Combeferres for a month at least. Two, if her fathers could spare her. But instead Mr Travers had stolen her away and Suzannah was left with months old letters that had to be redirected several times. And now her friend was finally here, but looking not at all like a happy bride. She looked unhappy and she was reproaching Suzannah for acknowledging her change in station. Surely she didn’t think Suzannah blamed her for falling in love? Nora seemed so very far away, sitting stiffly in the chair. If they were alone, Suzannah could talk freely, dispense with the titles and all weighty politeness. Be Suzannah and Nora again, like they used to. She struck on an idea.

“David, fetch us some tea if you please. Mrs Travers is in need of refreshments.”

When David opened his mouth, probably to assert his role as chaperon, Suzannah narrowed her eyes. David had heard her talk about Nora often enough he ought to know she could never be a danger to Suzannah. David gave her a discreet warning look, but he did leave to ask cook for some teathings. The air in the room felt less oppressive without his watchful eye. Nora did not seem to notice. Suzannah wished she knew how to make her smile again. All her usual ways, lemon drops, affectionate embraces or whispered jokes seemed unsuitable for such a strange moment. It was this dreadful distance, the months of separation that divided them now. At school they were inseparable, sharing rooms and secrets and a reputation of having far too decided opinions for their young age.

Suzannah sighed and gave up on propriety. She stood, dusted off her gown and walked towards Nora. Nora looked up at her with wide eyes from where she was still silently stewing in unexplained sadness. Suzannah took her hands and pulled her upright.

“Come on Nora, your hair looks a fright.” A spark of Nora’s usual lively spirit flickered in her eyes. Suzannah triumphed privately. Indignation was an improvement over this silent sadness. Nora had always been rather proud of her hair, a glorious mass of beautiful dark curls. She once dragged Tom Churchill’s cravats through the mud for saying it was a dull colour.

“Let us go to my dressing room, I will fix your hair and you will tell me what’s amiss and together we will fix it.”

Nora let herself be led up the stairs. Suzannah could see her start to speak, or perhaps protest, several times, but no words left her lips. Once upstairs, Suzannah took Nora’s wrap without ceremony and sat her down in front of her looking glass. In the reflection she could see Nora’s helpless, nonplussed countenance and her own determined look. Suzannah believed strongly in the fact that doing something improper with a cheerful countenance while maintaining pleasant conversation was much more effective than slinking around like some sort of spy. Her brother and his friends called this the Suzannah method and employed it frequently when buying things they ought not to have. Suzannah kept up a cheerful chatter as she took off Nora’s dreadful cap and started to unpin her long hair. By the time all pins were neatly aligned on the dressing table, Nora had relaxed and a bit of colour was back in her face. Suzannah took her brush and pulled it slowly through Nora’s soft tresses. This was not fair play, as Suzannah knew how pleasant Nora found the sensation, but the time for fair play and gentle questions was long past. It was time to help her friend, to bring Nora back to her happy self and Suzannah would use all the tricks at her disposal to make it so. She ran her fingers through Nora’s hair, smoothing it and separating it to be braided. Her friend had stopped looking so wan, but she couldn’t help but notice that the glass showed her own eyes full of false cheer and barely concealed worry. Nora caught her eye in the mirror. Suzannah attempted to divine the story from her eyes, to spare her the pain of telling her troubles, but she was largely unsuccessful.

“Are you trying to speak with your eyes again?” Nora asked, with a quick smile. For a while in school, they had attempted to create a language made up entirely of blinking and intense looks. It wasn’t very effective. Suzannah smiled and blinked twice in rapid succession. This was meant to be the warning that the headmistress was approaching. Or perhaps it might have been the promise to share sweet treats at a later opportunity. It was the only signal she remembered. Nora burst out laughing. She was hiccupping uncontrollably amid peals of wild laughter.

“Suzie!” she giggled wildly with tears welling up in her eyes, “Suzie, I try to tell you about the horrible truth and you tell me there’s a gentleman unable to pick up his hat due to his fashionably tight breeches. Why?” She gasped for breath and fell into laughter again. Suzannah laughed with her, protesting that that had not been her intended message.

“I meant to warn you of impending authority, not dandies in distress.” Suzannah sobered. “But what horrible truth is this? Please tell me, Nora, please.”

Nora sighed and toyed with the hairpins laid out on the marble top of the dressing table. She looked up, eyes dark and piercing.

“Bertram didn’t truly marry me.”

And so the story unfolded. How Mr Travers had courted her, proposed and promised her happiness. How Nora Walker had become Mrs Travers, or so she thought. How she discovered to her horror, that Mr Travers already had a spouse, that her marriage could never be legal. That just a year before, a marriage had taken place between Mr Travers and the owner of the estate that bordered his own. A political match made to enclose the land, advantageous, loveless and not something he felt he ought to disclose to the girl he loved. How Nora had left his protection and travelled alone, to the closest place she could be certain of a friendly reception. Her fathers’ estate was far, but Suzannah was much closer. She didn’t know whether Mr Travers might have followed her, to try to convince her to stay. She didn’t know whether she wanted him to either.

“He said it was not wrong of him, since he did not feel the two marriages were the same. One an advantageous match and one for passion. He felt he had done no wrong and I cannot even say with certainty I hate him for it.”

“I can,” said Suzannah, and threw her arms around her friend. With Nora encircled in her arms and her face hooked over Nora’s shoulder, Suzannah looked at her friends’ reflection.

“We shall write to your parents and all will be well. We can send you home in our carriage, but in the meantime you must stay here and rest,” Suzannah said to both their reflections. She was not inclined to let her friend go and she had an inkling Nora felt the same. Nora’s hands had come up to cover her own.

“I do not know if I can face my fathers. They only barely forgave me for eloping.” Her voice broke on the words, a heart breaking sound Suzannah hoped Nora would never have cause to make again. A mere half embrace did not seem sufficient anymore. Without letting her go, she turned until she found herself sitting in Nora’s lap so she could hold her and look at her at the same time.

“Bertram and I were meant to visit them next month”, Nora said, pulling Suzannah closer so she could hide her face in Suzannah’s shoulder and hide her welling tears. “My first visit as a married woman. I don’t know how I’ll face them, still unmarried.” Suzannah stroked her hair soothingly.

“I have a solution, dearest, though you may not like it.”

Nora pressed indistinct sounds into Suzannah’s shawl. Suzannah pressed a kiss to her hair, because it felt like the only natural response.

“Well, Nora Angelica Walker, why don’t you marry me?”

She felt Nora freeze in her arms.

“I’m quite serious,” she continued, ”You know of my predicament with the legacy and you know you are the only person I could possibly start a school with. Don’t you think we could be happy together?”

Nora lifted her head, smiling through her tears.

“Is this a business proposal? Or a sacrifice on your part to stem the tide of scandal?” She asked, but Suzannah was sure she already knew the answer. She must have known that Suzannah felt about her the way she could not feel towards any other gentle.

“It is both, a little,” Suzannah replied, stroking Nora’s cheek and gently wiping a tear away. “But mostly I think I want to share my life with you. My dear friend, will you?”

Nora pressed their foreheads together softly, her beautiful dark eyes shone with tears and happiness.

“Well then,” she whispered, “I suppose for the sake of our school and our hearts, I will marry you, Suzannah Combeferre.”

Suzannah felt the momentous occasion needed more reply than just getting lost in Nora’s fine eyes, lovely as it was to have her so close once more. Gently she pulled off Nora’s gloves to kiss her hands, first the right, the left and then her ring fingers. Quiet happiness glowed in her and found a mirror in Nora’s eyes. They sat, caressing and talking, until Eve and David barged in, accusations flying wildly and loudly until Suzannah could explain their engagement and congratulations were flying instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming with me on this most niche of fic journeys. The next part of the story chronologically is Dear Combeferre, in the story A Lovely Night.
> 
> There may be one or two short stories in this verse still coming, so if there's anything at all you'd like to see before I close this universe, don't hesitate to ask
> 
> As always, comments bring me joy and thanks for reading!


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